


The Legacy You Leave

by TtotheCofA



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Multi, as a fair warning OCs will abound in this story, ships aren't gonna be super-focused on but they will be there, there will be cursing in many languages but no smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-01-02 04:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 18,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21155678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TtotheCofA/pseuds/TtotheCofA
Summary: The life of a human is but the blink of an eye, to an immortal being. The nations knew all too well that no matter how tightly they held them, a human would wither, and pass from their lives. Many of them chose not to look back, after the inevitable, if only to save themselves the heartache.But when America stumbles across a mysterious teenager on the run from a dangerous force, the nations learn that the past isn't so content to be ignored...





	1. The World Convenes in Spain

**Author's Note:**

> Hey wow so! This is a rewrite of a fanfiction I wrote back in 2010-2012, formerly titled "Children of the Nation". I still loved the concept (and the characters) some seven years later, so here we are, swinging it for round two. I hope you all enjoy it!

Japan was used to crowded spaces. 

His own cities were very populous for their sizes, and his trains were always filled to the brim with commuters and travelers with schedules to keep. He did not consider himself claustrophobic, and, in fact, quite liked being immersed in the crowds in his homeland. It allowed him to feel close to his people, without having to sacrifice his - or their - public personal spaces.

But this crowded Spanish elevator was a bit...much.

When the elevator car reached his destination floor, Japan had to withhold a sigh of relief, and quickly wiggled his way out into the lobby with a generous handful of ‘pardon me’s and ‘coming through’s. He even managed to maintain his calm exterior until the elevator doors had fully closed before stepping out, and he could finally relax, and let his tense posture drop.

Next time, he might just take the stairs...

The short nation took a quick look at the room navigation plaque before heading down the hallway, and looking out for the correct number. When he found it, he raised his hand, and knocked three times. After a few moments of silence, a set of heavy footsteps approached the door in a familiar pattern he’d come to learn over the decades. Japan smiled softly as the door opened, and bowed his head in a respectful nod.

“Good morning, Germany, Italy.” He greeted, moving inside as Germany stepped back, and waved him in. “Are you prepared for today’s meeting?”

“Almost, Japan!” Italy replied cheerfully from where he rummaged, out of sight, through his suitcase in the closet. Every few seconds, a piece of discarded clothing was flung into sight, and onto the bed. “Germany had to take a phone call from his brother, but we were almost ready, anyway. I just need to find my jacket!”

“I see.” Japan looked up at Germany. The blond nation closed the door behind them, and raised a hand to rub at his temples.

“You wouldn’t have to search for it if you would just hang it up when you first got here…” He muttered under his breath before looking down at Japan. “Gilbert called a few minutes ago,” Germany confirmed. “To check in and apologize for not calling last week. He sounds like he is doing well, but...he did not want to chat. Said he was running late for...something. He did not specify.”

Japan made a quiet noise of affirmation, but let Germany’s words hang in the air, for the moment. Gilbert - the nation formerly known as Prussia - had come home one day, three months ago, and declared that he was moving out of his brother’s basement. The decision had been sudden, to say the least.

He hadn’t even said anything until the basement had been all but empty. 

Germany had been supportive of the decision on the outside, but Japan knew (through Italy’s nervous babble) that the abrupt change had caught the nation off guard. As much as he griped and grumbled about his brother’s living situation, having Prussia - having Gilbert - so close by meant that Germany could always be assured that he was still there.

But out of respect for his friend, Japan kept these observations to himself, and simply placed a comforting hand on Germany’s arm.

For a moment, Germany seemed to hold his breath. Then he exhaled, and Japan let his hand drop. Germany cast the shorter nation a momentary glance before Italy popped out from around the corner, triumphantly tugging on the lapels of his jacket.

“There we go! All nice and fancy!” Italy grinned. “Hey Germany, do you think we could stop for lunch on the way? I saw this little cafe on the cab ride over that had these lovely ladies sitting in the patio-”

“No, we cannot!” Germany snapped, back to his usual stern self in an instant. “We are already running late as it is!” Japan wisely stepped back and opened the door as Germany hustled Italy out into the hallway, grabbing the two briefcases off the closet shelf with one hand as he passed. “It’s incredibly unprofessional to show up late to a world meeting - especially if you’re carpooling with others who have a reputation for being punctual! 

Japan quietly let the hotel door swing shut, and followed after the pair with a small, fond smile. He caught up to them at the elevators once more, and slipped into the (thankfully far less crowded) car just in time for the doors to close.

…….

Another day, another body...and another unsolved murder.

Spain stared down at the local news headline scrolling across his phone and frowned. A charred corpse had been found in an alley out in Seville; headless and handless, just like all the rest that had been found over the last decade. The police had no suspects, and few leads to follow, and had given the media a vague statement, as usual.

And, as usual, the media hadn’t bought it.

Theories and speculations had been flying across the Spanish airwaves all day, ranging from the plausible (a serial killer?) to the ridiculous (aliens?!). Most people seemed to agree that these terrible murders were some sort of gang violence, though no local group had laid claim to them. Spain wasn’t sure he believed that.

“Hey, España!” Romano’s voice cut through the nation’s somber thoughts, and Spain quickly locked his phone. Romano leaned his hip against the threshold of the open door, and crossed his arms with his usual scowl, his jacket tossed over one arm. “Are you ready to go or not? You’re not gonna show up late to a meeting in your own house, are you?"

“Nope!” Spain pasted on a wide smile - one that he’d had centuries to practice - and stuffed his phone in his pocket. “Sorry, Romano. I guess I got a little distracted.” He laughed. Romano rolled his eyes.

“At least tell me you’re not playing that stupid ‘Treat Tower’ game.” The shorter man spun around in the doorway and stomped down the hall. “It’s dumb Tetris knock-off, and you shouldn’t give Russia the satisfaction of knowing you play….” Spain’s smile slipped as Romano’s voice faded down the hall, and he silently picked up his jacket from the back of the chair he’d thrown it over.

Most of the nations didn’t bother watching the news when traveling abroad for these meetings, unless there was a major event they wanted to keep an eye on. A murder should slip right under the radar of even the most keen-eyed among them...it happened everywhere, after all. He just had to put this out of his mind until the meeting concluded in about three days (if they could be as productive as last time).

He could go back to worrying then.


	2. Shopping Sprees and Great Escapes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this chapter more than I would like, but maybe that's because I'm still super-hyped for later ones?? Oh well. Hope y'all like this one! The pace should start to pick up from here on out...I hope.

The street markets of Explanada de España were buzzing with activity in the afternoon heat. Locals and tourists were out in force to take advantage of the good weather, and the stalls overflowing with fruits, vegetables, colorful fabrics, and knick-knacks galore up for sale.

Ilya Turgenev turned his nose up at all of them, and hovered awkwardly near the middle of the street as his companions browsed the seemingly endless wares. He had never had any interest in learning Spanish (he’d never needed to know it, back home), but he was starting to regret not buying that pocket dictionary from the tourist center…

His stumbling attempts at the local tongue had made his brother laugh, but the people had looked at him with stares and sneers, and Ilya never had taken to criticism well. After the first few muddled attempts, he’d stopped entirely, and let his other companion take over. Nathan took to language like a duck to water, after all.

As he watched the American chatting it up with one of the stall owners, they burst out laughing, and Ilya narrowed his eyes. Were they talking about him?

“Ilya! Hey, Ilya!” A little boy with platinum blond hair and a touristy T-shirt bought from a stand a few blocks back came running up to him, grinning from ear to ear, and proudly holding up a keychain with the city coat of arms painted beneath the resin. “Look what Nathan bought me! He said he knew we hadn’t been able to find one at the airport, so he got me one from here!” Evan beamed. Ilya’s icy scowl melted into a genuine smile, and he ruffled his brother’s hair.

“Ah, wasn’t that nice of him?” He mused, skillfully keeping his own opinions of the American to himself as Evan made an annoyed sound and tried to fix his hair. “That’s the last one you needed for your Spain set, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah!” Evan’s blinding smile quickly returned, and he proudly held up the keychain in the sunlight to get a better look. “I’ve got one from every major city now!!”

“Awesome! So...” Ilya leaned onto his knees, and the conspiratorial whisper of his tone hooked his brother’s attention. “Want to head to the Basilica a little early? I’ll get you some ice cream on the way, to celebrate.” Evan perked up visibly at the promise of a cool, tasty treat on a hot day, but he still paused, and looked back to where the third member of their group - Nathan - was still chatting animatedly with the stall owner.

“That sounds great, Ilya! But I don’t think Nathan’s gonna stop talking anytime soon.” He whispered back, matching his sibling’s low, secretive tone. Ilya’s grin turned just the slightest bit devious, though he tried to reign it in before Evan could notice.

“Ah, he can catch up to us later.” The older man shrugged. “The place we’re supposed to meet up is a big tourist spot. I’m sure he’d have no trouble finding it.” Ilya straightened up, and started to walk into the crowd. Obediently, Evan hurried to catch up with his brother, and stuffed the keychain in his back pocket.

A few minutes later, however, Nathan did finally excuse himself from the conversation...and stepped away from the market stall only to find the crowds devoid of any familiar faces.

“Um. Ilya...? Evan...?” Nathan turned in a circle, as if he could have missed the two in passing. When he still couldn’t see either brother, he scratched his head, shrugged, and started weaving his way through the crowd down the promenade.

They must have gotten bored and moved on to see the stalls further down the street. At the very least, he could always catch up to them at the meeting spot that had been picked out before this trip (even though they weren’t supposed to be going it alone). Nathan started to dig through his jacket pockets as he walked, and finally found the city map he’d bought from the tourist center just that morning. Unfolding it on the go, he tried to find the Basilica on the map.

It wasn’t too far from the promenade, right?

…….

World conferences weren’t often productive endeavors.

And they were all at least a little to blame for that, Canada supposed.

Even with Germany acting as a moderator, every last one of them were prone to tangents and arguments. Any presentation that began promptly and seriously was liable to fly off the rails the moment the right delegate piped up with the wrong commentary. Some among them just couldn’t resist tossing jabs at old rivals as they commanded the floor.

Which, Canada supposed, is probably why these meetings were often stretched out over three or more days.

Tearing his eyes away from the riveting display of England once again threatening a duel over France’s snide comments on his plan for economic growth, the northern nation glanced over at the seat beside him, and discreetly stretched out his leg beneath the table to nudge the nation seated beside him. America slowly spun his chair around to glance at his twin, and pointedly raised his eyebrows as England threw down his papers and tried to lunge at France over the table.

_These guys, you know?_ His expression said. Canada rolled his own eyes and nodded ever so slightly as France took to laughing at England from behind his Spain-shaped shield.

_Same mess, different day._ His own replied. America flicked his gaze across the room to the clock hung on the far wall, and his expression turned thoughtful. Canada followed his brother’s gaze, and made a quiet hum of his own.

It was nearing two in the afternoon, and the way things were going, America wasn’t going to get to make his presentation before the conference concluded for the day. Canada himself had slept in that morning, and had skipped out on the hotel breakfast to try and make up the time. It had been a wasted effort - hardly anyone had acknowledged him until it was his turn to present, and even then, no-one had listened. If he was feeling hungry, then America certainly was.

Canada looked back at his brother, and nodded his head towards the conference room door. _Want to get out of here?_ Was the unspoken question. America grinned, and nodded back.

With more stealth than most would have credited him with, the young nation quietly stood up from his seat, and left the room, with Canada following close behind. Both nations paused just outside the door, waiting to hear any of the others following them, or calling out. They only heard a crash, and a stream of Spanish curses as England managed to slip his german restraints, and beelined for his target.

Canada gently eased the door shut to dampen the sounds of battle, and sighed.

“So,” He looked to America as they made their way to the front of the building. “Where to, eh?”


	3. The Start of a Bad Spy Movie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm low-key worried the action is moving too fast but I'm super-hyped to get to some later chapters so why tf not let's put this up now.

The Basilica turned out to be a walkable distance from the promenade, but after just a few blocks, Nathan started to get the feeling that he was being watched.

He tried to shrug it off, at first. Tourists always stood out when they went abroad, and he was no exception. Nathan lowered the map he still held to glance around the street, but couldn’t see anyone looking in his direction. With a quiet sigh, the young man shook his head, and looked back at the map.

Surely, he was just being paranoid.

But as he kept walking, the feeling continued to follow him. The hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle, and Nathan nervously peered over the edge of the map once more. Again, no-one on the streets looked particularly suspicious...everything was business as usual for the people of Alicante. Unnerved, Nathan glanced down at the map, and promptly veered across the street at the next intersection, and started down another route.

He had hoped the feeling would go away if he left the main street behind; that whomever had been watching him with such an unsettling gaze would find another target to stare at, or that - at the very least - his paranoia would be satisfied knowing that he was taking the long way around to the Basilica. But the feeling persisted, and even grew stronger. Nathan hurriedly folded the map, and stuffed it back into his jacket pocket.

If he went over three streets and up another two, he could still reach the Basilica. He’d just be coming at it from another direction, and might have to walk around a bit to find the rest of his group. That would be fine, right? A car engine revved somewhere down the street behind him, and Nathan jumped. Then he sighed, and physically pressed a hand over his heart. This was getting out of hand...he couldn’t be jumping at every little thing!

The car drove past him on the street, and then pulled over to the sidewalk some half a block ahead, and stopped. Nathan kept his head down as the passenger climbed out, and tried to swing wide around the man, if only to avoid any awkward contact. But the sidewalk wasn’t quite that wide, and when the young man was only a few feet away from the car, the passenger stepped into the middle of the path.

Nathan stopped in his tracks, and felt an uneasy knot tie itself in his stomach. The driver of the car climbed out, and leaned on the side of the vehicle, as if to just observe, and the passenger casually put one hand in their pocket. That uneasy knot in his stomach tightened, and Nathan took a half step back before bolting back down the street the way he’d come.

He heard a stream of curses spat behind him, and the slamming of car doors as the two strangers raced after him. Nathan hooked a sharp left down a side-street, and chanced a glance back over his shoulder, hoping against hope that the quick turn might have at least bought him some time. Before he could get a good look, however, he reached the end of the side-street, and plowed unceremoniously into an unsuspecting pedestrian walking by.

“Shit!” Nathan cursed as they both fell to the ground. The unforgiving concrete cracked his glasses (and probably his nose), and it certainly wasn’t any nicer to the stranger. But the young man rolled back to his feet the moment he was able and kept on running. “Sorry, sorry!” He shouted over his shoulder as the pedestrian wobbled back to their own feet. “I hope your face is okay!”

“Geez!” America grabbed Canada and yanked him out of the way as two more people - older men with matching scowls - burst out of the alley, and ran after the teenager, paying the unfortunate witnesses no mind. “What the hell was that?? Mattie, is your face okay? You’re bleeding!”

“My face is fine, eh.” Canada raised one hand up to his stinging cheek to reassure himself. He’d gotten a little scraped from the concrete, but his own durability had kept the skin from breaking, and the bruise probably wouldn’t even be that bad, once it started to show. “And it’s not my blood...” Canada frowned at the red smeared on his hand, and tried not to think about how it was probably in his hair, too. “That kid must’ve busted his lip when we fell, eh.”

A loud crash - followed by a short cry of pain - echoed from somewhere down the street, and both nations stiffened. Canada reflexively grabbed his brother’s arm as America made to dash forward, and sighed internally.

“Alfred, wait.” He tried. He knew there was no stopping his brother, but maybe he could talk a little bit of sense into him before the inevitable. “The human thing to do is just call the police.” America nodded understandingly, and reached up to pull Canada’s hand off his arm.

“Good thing this hero isn’t human, then.” He grinned. Canada bit his tongue as his brother ran down the street towards the commotion, and counted to ten in his head before running after him.

He didn’t think America (of all people) would have any real trouble against two humans, but it never hurt to have a little back-up.

Canada turned the corner into the alley just in time to see his brother swing a solid right hook at one of the men - knocking him clean off his feet, and away from the teenager, who was sprawled out on the brickwork. America glanced back for just a moment - to make sure the approaching footsteps he heard was, in fact, his brother, and not a surprise attack - and planted himself between the strangers and the still-dazed teenager.

“Why don’t you two pick on someone your own size?” He challenged heroically as Canada knelt down behind him. One of the strangers spat a curse, and whipped out a knife from their belt, but the second grabbed their arm before their partner could lunge.

“_No._” The second stranger shook his head. “_Nos habere amisit efficiebat proelium…_” The man looked past America, to where Canada still hovered over their victim, and narrowed his eyes. “_Nos mos Mox iterum conare._”

“....come again?” America’s heroic smile flipped into a confused frown, for a moment. He prided himself on knowing a <strike>smattering</strike> lot of languages, but he didn’t recognize this one. Was that some regional dialect? The second stranger grudgingly sheathed their knife, and then, abruptly, both men turned and ran away.

“Hey!” America ran after them, for a few meters, before slowing to a stop before the mouth of the alley. He could catch them if he tried, sure, but contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t entirely inept at reading between the lines. Something super-fishy was going on here, and splitting up the group was never a good idea in the movies.

Glowering in the direction the strangers had disappeared in, America turned around and returned to his brother’s side.


	4. The First Twist of a Bad Spy Movie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one went from 'no progress' to 'absolutely getting away from me' in no time flat. I don't want any one chapter to be excessively longer than the others, so I guess we'll have to wait a bit to continue with America and Canada?

Despite his appropriately-translated T-shirt, Kurt Cameron stood out like a sore thumb in the thin crowds around the Basilica.

Perhaps it was the ornate cane he leaned on - one that looked more like something you’d carry to an event than something used to help an old man walk? Or perhaps it was the old, worn-out military boots, still caked with mud not found within the city? Perhaps it was even the old pocket watch tucked into his jean pocket, polished as shiny and new as the day it had been made?

Whichever oddity caught their eye, tourists and locals alike were prone to give the old man a strange look as they passed by, and all of them got a stern glare to set them back on their way.

“Kids these days…” His companion spoke up from where he leaned on the Basilica wall beside Kurt, never once looking up from his book. “No respect for punctuality.” He turned the page, but his eyes didn’t follow the words. From beneath auburn bangs, they tracked the milling crowds on the streets instead; searching for faces both familiar and not. “Any word from your kid, at least?”

“Hmph.” With a quiet ‘click’, Kurt closed the pocket watch and tucked it back into his jeans pocket. He didn’t like being off-schedule, and it was already ten minutes past the chosen time. Even if those kids had gotten sidetracked, surely Nathan - of all of them - would have called or texted to say as much.

But the phone he’d been talked into buying was still and silent in his pocket, and Kurt resisted the urge to check the pocket watch again.

“No.” He admitted grudgingly. “Which means, they’re either close enough that he things he doesn’t need to…or he can’t.” His companion hummed, and turned another page.

“We’ll find out in a minute.” He assured Kurt, closing his book and gesturing with it to the street that passed the building. “Here they come now.” Kurt frowned and looked to the street, but it was still a few moments before he saw the familiar faces of Ilya and his brother Evan making their way towards the Basilica.

As they drew closer, however, he also realized that Nathan was not with them, and neither looked very concerned for it. Unease fluttered in the old man’s chest, for a moment, before he squashed it down, and slid on his usual poker face.

“And where,” Kurt demanded in a low, stern voice when the pair reached them. “Is my grandson?” Evan paused, in mid-lick of the half-melted ice cream in his hand, and rather tellingly found the outside wall of the Basilica very interesting very suddenly. Ilya, however, only shrugged.

“What, he’s not here already?” If he were trying to sound surprised, he didn’t try hard enough, in Kurt’s opinion. “We had a head-start, sure, but Nathan had the map. I thought for sure he’d beat us here.” Kurt’s frown darkened to a scowl, and for a moment, his grip tightened around the head of his cane. But his companion placed a hand on his arm, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“And you left him to catch up, even though you know what’s chasing you?” He asked, keeping his own voice low to avoid attracting any attention from passers by. Much like his brother, Ilya seemed to suddenly take great interest in the bare stonework of the Basilica wall, and only responded with a quiet grumble. The man shook his head.

“We can’t leave without him.” He decided. “We’ll all have to go back and-”

“No.” Kurt interrupted. “If we all go, then we’ll be that much bigger of a target.” He pulled his phone from his jacket pocket, and swiped it open after a try or two. Bloody touch screens. “I’ll go and find him. We’ve got each other’s phones attached to this ‘finding’ app, here.” The man explained as he tapped at the screen. “I can follow it right to him.”

“Kurt, we shouldn’t be splitting up any more than we are-” The auburn-haired man started to argue.

“Worst case if we all go, we all die.” Kurt interrupted sharply. Evan winced, and made a show of looking away from the arguing adults. “Worst case if just one of us goes, we only lose two. Besides…” He gestured to the eyepatch his companion wore across his right eye. “I stand out just a bit less than you do.”

“…._stultum senem_.” The man sighed at length. The logic was sound and practical, and he hated it. He hated it, and he hated that he could think of no argument against it that didn’t put Evan right back into the very danger they were trying to avoid.

Kurt’s phone quietly chimed, and both men looked down at the screen. It now displayed a little red dot on a map of the city, and a dotted path that was - supposedly - the shortest route there, by foot. The eyepatched man snorted an unhappy noise from the back of his throat.

“Fine, fine. We’ll do it your way.” He conceded grudgingly. “But I want you to call me the moment you get there,” He jabbed a finger toward the dot on the phone screen. “And then call the moment you leave again. Anything goes sideways, you call anyway, and drop me on speaker.”

“Aye aye, captain.” Kurt tossed back, only intending to sound mildly sarcastic, this time. He headed off down the street, guided by his phone’s map, and his companion pinched the bridge of his nose for a few long seconds before taking a deep breath, and refocusing on the two remaining members of their group.

“You two, stick with me.” He ordered. “I’ll get you to the airport, and then you’re gonna _sit_ and do _whatever_ Alex tells you to do to get ready for take-off until we get back. _Clear?_”

“Yes’ir.” Evan nodded hastily.

“We’re clear.” Ilya replied with a bit more steel. The man glared at Ilya before muttering under his breath, and ushering both boys down the street, opposite the direction Kurt had gone.

Kids these days…no respect for authority.


	5. The Second Twist of a Bad Spy Movie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. This chapter certainly happened faster than the last one. Let's see if I can keep up that trend going forward!

From the bloody stains down his shirt, to the possibly-broken arm held carefully in his lap, and the sprawling bruise slowly darkening across his cheek, the poor teenager looked like he’d been hit by a truck.

If Canada didn’t know any better, he probably would have guessed that he had.

“What’s your name, kid?” The nation asked as he placed his hands on either side of the teenager’s head. Blue eyes focused blearily on his own, and he hummed quietly. They weren’t one of his citizens, he could tell, but they felt...familiar, somehow. He wasn’t sure why. “Can you tell me how old you are?”

“Nathan Cameron...17.” Canada bobbed his head in a nod, and gently prodded at the first signs of bruising. The name wasn’t familiar...but maybe this kid just had one of those faces? He did look a bit like America, now that he thought about it...same blue eyes, same blond hair…

What a coincidence, eh?

“Do you know what city we’re in?” Canada asked as he gently probed the extent of the bruising. By Nathan’s wincing, it ran all the way from his jaw up to his temple, and nearly from ear to nose. Ouch.

“Yeah. Alicante, Spain.” The teen replied stiffly. Pulling his hands back, Canada turned his attention to the arm Nathan had so gingerly draped across his lap. The skin wasn’t broken, but the limb was definitely swollen, and - from how still Nathan held it - probably broken.

“Do you remember what happened?” He asked, leaving the arm be, for now. “Any blank spots or confusion?”

“No, no...I remember pretty well.” Nathan laughed nervously, and raised his good arm to rub sheepishly at the back of his neck. ”I ran you over and got my face mashed into the ground. Twice.” He frowned. “I’m, um. Sorry about that, by the way-”

“Hey, no worries.” Canada interrupted with a reassuring smile. “There was no harm done, see?” He leaned back on his heels and waved a hand toward his face, and - true to his word - there was barely even had a bruise from the collision. Nathan sighed in relief, and moved to take off his glasses, and Canada used the distraction to glance over his shoulder. America, returning from the other end of the alley, shook his head with a short-lived scowl.

_They got away. _ The look said. _ I’ll give you the details later. _

“Aw, man…” Nathan lamented when he got a good look at the cracks in his lenses. He’d been hoping the damage wouldn’t have been as it appeared looking through them, but there went that hope. “And me without my spares….” He frowned, put the glasses back on his face. Broken was better than none, after all. “Gramps is gonna kill me.”

“Considering the circumstances, I’m sure he’d go easy on you.” America came to stand beside his brother, and offered Nathan another bright, reassuring smile (one that, Canada knew, he practiced in the mirror). “Let’s get you back on your feet, for starters.” He suggested, already reaching down to grab Nathan’s good hand.

The moment skin met skin, however, a jolt of a feeling raced up America’s arm. 

He disguised his tensing with the motion of hauling Nathan up to his feet, and took advantage of Canada stepping back in to let his head reel, for a moment. The strange feeling was still zipping through his veins, though it had faded somewhat once he’d let go of the teen’s hand. It was something akin to what he felt around his own citizens, except, not exactly. It was a feeling of _ warmth _ and _ familiarity _ \- of knowing something _ belonged _ as if it _ always _ had - except far, _ far _ stronger than he could remember feeling for a _ very _ long time.

The only memory that came close was centuries old; from when he was just a boy, all alone in a wide-open world, and reaching up at a man who called himself his ‘big brother’...

“...-our sure you’re not dizzy?” Canada’s voice suddenly filtered back in, and America snapped out of his thoughts. “You look a little dazed-”

“No, no, I’m fine! Really!” Nathan was insisting. He did look a little disoriented...ah, geez. America winced. Had he pulled the kid up too quickly? Sometimes he forgot, around humans, to reign in his superstrength.

“Hmm.” Canada’s raised eyebrow turned his affirmative hum into something more sarcastic in nature, but Nathan didn’t seem to catch on to it. “Alright...well, let’s get going. I think there’s a clinic nearby that can at least get you a sling for your arm.” At the mention of a clinic, however, Nathan started to look a little queasy, and shook his head.

“Uh, n-no, no, that’s okay. I don’t need to go” He protested. “My arm’s not even that bad, see?” Holding up his injured arm, Nathan flexed his fingers and rotated the limb. “It just needs some ice and-. And maybe an ACE bandage. It’ll be fine!” His pained smile did not go unnoticed by either nation, and they traded quiet looks. Though suspicious, Canada could only shrug slightly.

Maybe he had misdiagnosed a sprain as a break, given how gingerly Nathan himself had been about the limb? 

“Okay, no clinic, then.” America conceded. “But at least let us make sure you get back to wherever you’re staying safely.” He offered. “You mentioned your grandad before, right? I’m guessing you’re here on vacation with him?”

“Um, yeah.” Nathan visibly relaxed as the topic of the clinic was dropped, and America made a quiet note of that. “I was supposed to meet him at the Basilica of Santa Maria with a few other friends, but I, uh…” The teen laughed nervously, and scratched the back of his neck again. “I got distracted by the market stalls on the Promenade when we went by them, and fell behind.” He admitted.

“I was trying to catch up to them when those two guys started after me, and-...oh!” Nathan’s eyes widened in realization. “Oh, I should-. I should call them, shouldn’t I?” He started to dig through his pockets with his good hand - finding the device in his jacket on the third try - but when he pulled it out, his face fell.

“Bloody hell…” Nathan cursed as he beheld the cracks spiraling across his phone’s screen. It was still on, sure, but that touch screen was never going to work again. “So much for calling…”

“Ouch.” America made a sympathetic face at the sight, and slung an arm around the teen’s shoulders. “Hey, don’t worry about it, kid. We can walk you over there, can’t we Mattie?” He looked to his brother for (already assumed) confirmation.

Something about this scenario (the assault, the strange language the men spoke, the weird feeling he’d felt when he’d touched Nathan, etc.) didn’t add up, and America wasn’t about to just leave it be. Walking this mysterious kid to his destination, as opposed to offering him one of their phones to use, was a good excuse to get some extra time to figure out just what felt so...off...about all this. 

Canada, for his part, did not share all of his brother’s suspicions, but he nodded along anyway. It wasn’t like they - two strangers who just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time - could force the teen to get medical treatment for his injuries. At the very least, they could make sure Nathan got back to his group, and someone there might convince him to go get his wounds looked at.

“Sure thing.” The northern nation agreed. “The Basilica isn’t too far off, from here, yeah? I saw a few signs pointing towards it when we were getting lunch.” He remarked out loud. America kept his arm slung around Nathan’s shoulders, and steered them back out of the alley, and onto the sidewalk. Nathan tugged his jacket closer to hide the bloodstains down his shirt.

“You guys really don’t have to do this,” He tried. “It’s more than enough that you came to my rescue in the first place-"

“Kid, don’t _ even _ worry about it.” America interrupted with his usual heroic grin as they made for more populated streets. Canada followed behind the two, feeling as though they’d forgotten something. He glanced around the street, but couldn’t think of anything they’d missed...until he spotted a familiar scowl a streetlight over, staring their small trio down as they rejoined the crowds. Canada quietly sidled up to his brother’s side, and whispered.

“Keep your eyes ahead, eh? We’re being followed.”


	6. Between a Rock and a Hard Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally tried to track this chase scene with an actual map of Alicante, Spain, but I got myself lost in the satellite view, and can no longer claim cartographic accuracy.

America didn’t outwardly react to Canada’s whispered statement. Nathan, it seemed, hadn’t heard the northern nation over the ambient noise of the street crowds, and he didn’t want the kid to panic.

“Same guys?” He whispered back, just as softly as his twin. At the edge of his peripheral vision, he saw Canada bob his head in a nod. They may have ditched their outer jackets, but the unlucky one America had punched was still nursing a split lip and a swelling jaw.

It was hard to blend into a crowd, when you looked like you just lost a bar fight.

America tightened his hold around Nathan’s shoulders marginally, and steered them all around a shop sign board set out on the sidewalk. The teen didn’t seem to have picked up on their new ‘shadows’, instead poking hopefully at his phone. His photo gallery? Reachable. That cat-collecting app he always forgot to update? Sure, if he tapped enough and got lucky. The phone app? Absolutely not….

The two brothers traded a quick look over Nathan’s head, and Canada flicked his eyes towards the two men. America nodded minutely, and widened his smile. “Hey, let’s cross here!” America suggested, pivoting suddenly to face a crosswalk on the corner. Canada moved to stand on the teen’s other side, and half a block away, the two men stopped, and appeared to take a sudden phone call.

“Huh? Here?” Nathan looked up from his broken phone nervously. He tried to walk back his path in his head - where he’d broken off the first time, which way he’d run when chased - but before he could catch up, the crossing light changed, and he found himself pulled forward with surprising strength. “Wait-!” Behind them, the men abruptly ended their phone call, and resumed their pursuit.

“Trust me, I know a shortcut!” America promised, still hoping to keep Nathan’s attention diverted. The teen was pretty calm now, but knowing you were being hunted down on the streets made one prone to panic, and they couldn’t afford a bigger scene on a crowded street. “We need to get you back quick, right? So we’re gonna ditch the crowds up the street and go around them!” 

Nathan looked doubtful, and Canada felt a little bad. This couldn’t look good, from his perspective. A pair of good Samaritans save him, and promise to take him back to his family, only to suddenly start making these shifty excuses and taking all these ‘shortcuts’?

The poor kid probably felt like he was going straight from one bout of stranger danger to another…

But there wasn’t time to stop and explain. Their pursuers followed them across the busy street at the tail end of the crossing light, and for another three blocks after that. Around a left turn, a right turn, a shortcut down a side street - every time Canada glanced back, he saw the same two men, slowly closing the distance as the two groups wound their way through the city. America snuck a glance over his shoulder at the men as they hung around another random corner.

Geez, didn’t these guys know when to quit?

“...we’re not going to the Basilica, are we?” Nathan asked slowly after several blocks of tense silence. America winced inwardly at the quiet, scared tone, and Canada tossed him a sympathetic glance. They’d both been hoping to avoid this question...at least, until they weren’t being chased down by suspicious thugs.

“...no, kid.” America admitted grudgingly. “Not yet, anyway. Not with those guys still following us. Ah-!” America quickly yanked the teen back around when he started to turn his head. “Don’t look back! Don’t look back…” He whispered as he tugged the boy close with one arm, hoping it looked like they were just trying to hear each other beneath the hubbub of the streets. “We don’t want them to know we know.”

_They probably already do._ Canada wanted to say. He held his tongue, however. They had more important things to worry about, in all honesty.

“Listen,” America tried to explain. “I know this is already super sketchy, and you’ve only known us for, like, five minutes, but we’ve got a safe place nearby where we can hide out.” They came to another crossing light, and had to stop for the traffic. Canada watched, from the corner of his eye, as the two men stopped only a few meters behind them, and took another sudden ‘phone call’.

“These guys won’t be able to follow us inside, we can let the cops deal with them, and I promise,” America raised his free hand, and made a show of drawing an ‘x’ across his chest, right over his heart. “I promise! You can call your grandad as soon as we’re there.” The light changed, and Canada nudged them both forward again. Nathan moved without much resistance, and the two men immediately ended their phony phone call.

This wasn’t much of a choice, Nathan thought. Get kidnapped by people who definitely wanted to (and had) hurt you, or get kidnapped by people who hadn’t yet and _maybe_ wouldn't?

And all this because he’d taken too much time to make friendly conversation at the Promenade…

The crowds were growing thicker, now, as the trio turned onto the street for the conference center. Canada kept sneaking glances back at their pursuers, and withheld a sigh of relief as they started to gain back some of their lead. America had a way of walking that caused people to almost subconsciously step out of his way, and then close up behind him like a school of fish around a shark.

He called it ‘oozing charisma’. England called it ‘obliviousness’.

Canada didn’t want to feed their egos.

America pushed Nathan ahead of him into the revolving door, and Canada waited a beat before following his twin through. The lobby of the conference center was all but empty, which proved to be a good thing - Nathan’s jacket had fallen open, and the dried bloodstain down his shirt would have been quite the frightening sight to any unsuspecting business-folk.

“Whew! Okay!” America’s voice sounded too loud in the space, and he made an audible effort to lower it after taking a deep breath. “We’re inside. We’re safe.” He said, partially for Nathan’s benefit, and partially to calm his own nerves. That warm, lightning sensation was still tingling beneath his skin, and he wasn’t sure if it was just adrenaline, or the fact that he’d kept his arm around this strange kid the whole walk back.

“I’ll go see if I can find a first aid kit.” Canada volunteered. “It should at least have a cold pack for-”

“And just _where_ have you two _been?!_” A booming voice demanded from across the room. Nathan flinched outright at the shout, and America pulled a face at Canada over the teen’s head. Whoops...guess their spontaneous lunch break had been noticed after all. Pasting on a cheery (though somewhat sheepish, by his own admission) smile, America turned on his heel and stepped between Nathan and the intimidating blond stomping towards them from the elevator doors.

“Hey, Germany!” England’s sharp green eyes rounded the corner behind the meeting moderator, and America cursed internally. “Dudes! Did we, uh, miss anything important?”


	7. Sneaking Out is Easier Than Sneaking Back In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have any notes to add to this chapter, but I feel like I'm forgetting something if I don't put something down here.

There were only a few times over the years that America had seen Germany truly angry.

Despite his scary face and loud voice, the German nation actually had quite a tight grip on his temper. He yelled when Prussia drank the last of the beer and didn’t replace it, sure, and threatened punishment when Italy tried to skip out on local meetings, but he was never really _ angry _ when he did.

Germany had even somehow kept his cool during the Double-Bubble Incident, where poor Aster had to get a patch of fur shaved off her back (and Sealand had been politely asked _ never _ to bring gum to his house again).

So America was caught a bit off guard when England pushed his way around Germany, and leveled him with a glare that was _ far _ more scathing in nature.

“What you _ missed _ was your presentation slot, as well as five others!” America remembered at the very last second that Nathan was still hiding behind him, and stopped himself from stepping back as an accusing finger was jabbed into his chest. “That’s _ some _ nerve the two of you have, buggering off in the middle of a meeting without so much as a word of excuse!”

“Geez, dude, calm down.” America frowned, and raised his hands in a placating gesture. It had never done much to calm England’s rage in the past, but what could it hurt? “Mattie and I just got a little hungry, that’s all! The way your presentation was going, we figured we had time to skip out and grab a quick bite-”

“Well, you ‘figured’ wrong!” England snapped, more than just a little offended. Was his presentation _ so _ boring that his former colony just couldn’t bear to focus on it? Granted, America’s attention span _ did _ tend to be rather short when it came to topics he didn’t care for, but the _ least _ he could have done was stay in the room! “And you were gone for more than an hour!” The nation accused. “What kind of ‘quick bite’ takes you more than an hour?”

“That’s _enough_!” Germany interrupted firmly, both in voice and with an arm thrust between the two nations to separate them. “I think there is a much more pressing matter we should deal with first.” He pointedly nodded his head over America’s shoulder, where Nathan still stood, partially frozen in the act of closing his jacket. “_ Who _ is _ this _?”

“....” The teen swallowed audibly, and raised one hand in a shy little wave. “Uh. H-hi…?” England’s sour mood ground to an abrupt halt at the realization that his ranting had a witness (and a human one, at that!), and Canada shot America a quiet look.

_ Well? _ His eyes said. _ Say something! _

“He’s-. Uh.” America began eloquently. He’d figured back in the alleyway that he’d be able to come up with a plausible excuse, but now that he was actually under pressure to, none of those brilliant words would come. “Well, he’s-. Um…see, we sort of-”

“Bloody _hell_, lad! What happened?” England ducked under America’s arms and raised a cautious hand to the dark bruise that had been spreading across Nathan’s face like a thundercloud. The teenager winced at the careful prodding, but with Canada still at his back, couldn’t move away.

“I. Um.” Nathan stumbled over his words, and flicked a brief glance up at America, as if for permission, before looking back at England. “I fell, and kinda...smashed my face on the sidewalk.”

“It’s a bit more than that, kid...” America hissed a small sigh through his teeth, and propped his hands on his hips. There was little point in hiding things, now. The threat was still hovering somewhere outside, after all, and it was only logical to let the others know. 

“We found him getting beat up in an alley, and promised to walk him back to his grandpa,” The nation explained in a lowered voice. There was no-one else in the lobby, and the doors were still shut, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious. “But then the guys who beat him up started following us, and they _ really _ weren’t being subtle about it, so Mattie and I came back here, instead.”

“So, we can assume that these men followed you here, and may still be in the area?” Germany deduced, his mind already whirling through a variety of contingency plans. His tone left little room for doubt, and America nodded his head.

“Unfortunately, yes.” He said. “We don’t know what they want, but they followed us pretty closely for - what was it Mattie? Ten blocks? - ten blocks, so whatever they want, they’re serious about it.” Finally satisfied that there seemed to be nothing broken beneath the heavy bruising, England switched his focus to Canada.

“Has he had any sort of medical attention?” He asked, unable to help the authoritative tone slipping into his voice. Old habits die hard - especially for a nation of his age and experience. “Any sign of concussion or other trauma?”

“I did a preliminary test, and he hasn’t shown any symptoms so far.” Canada shook his head. “But on that note, how about you come with us, eh?” He took Nathan by the shoulders and started to pull him across the lobby, and deeper into the building. “We’ll find a first aid kit, and get some ice on that bruise.”

“And then can I call my grandad?” Nathan asked nervously, tugging again at the edges of his jacket to try and cover the dried blood stains on his shirt. Kurt was sure to be worried, now that his grandson was an hour overdue for their rendezvous. Oh, man, he was _ so _ grounded for this...

“Of course, lad.” England placed a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You can borrow my phone, even...”

America turned to watch as Nathan was led away, and that lingering itch beneath his skin flared somewhat as England placed a hand on his shoulder. The nation frowned. That was...weird. He needed to remember to ask someone about that...maybe England himself, or even China. One of the older ones was sure to know what this weird feeling was about.

But right now, he had something more important to focus on.

“Ludwig,” America spoke up again when he thought the others were far enough away. “There’s one other thing.” He leaned his head in slightly, and Germany did the same. “When I first chased these guys away from Nathan, they were speaking this language I didn’t recognize.” He frowned. “It sounded kind of like Italian, but also not?” The german nation hummed in thought for a moment.

“Perhaps it was a dialect you were not familiar with?” He suggested. Though every nation could understand - if not speak - the languages of their own people, even _ they _ couldn’t understand every one ever created. “Or, perhaps, it was some kind of code, meant to keep outsiders from understanding.”

“Maybe...” America scratched at his chin, his thoughts speeding around in a tizzy. Secret codes? Mysterious thugs? Strange, electrified kids? This was sounding more and more like an action movie by the minute!

It was...not as fun as he’d thought it’d be, honestly.

“In any case, the meeting has been adjourned for the day.” Germany continued, raising his voice from the quiet whisper to a more normal volume. “Most of the others have already left, but let’s do our best to keep this...situation...between the four of us, if we can.” He advised. The faster they could contain this potential threat, the more it lessened the risk to the rest of the world. America frowned at the advice, clearly disagreeing, but he bit his tongue, for now.

Germany had a good point. For all they knew, this was a purely human conflict. It probably wasn’t something deserving worldwide attention, and really, America and Canada had only gotten involved because the problem had run right into them (or _ over _ them, in Canada’s case).

“...fine.” America agreed after a moment of silent consideration. “We’ll keep a tight lid on this. For now. But I’m telling you, there’s something deeper going on here.” He insisted as Germany leaned back. “I’ll eat England’s homemade scones if there’s not!”

“There’s no need to be so dramatic.” Germany muttered under his breath as he straightened his tie. “I’m going to step outside and take a walk around the building.” He said. “If I see any suspicious persons in the area, I’ll report them to building security.”

“You’ll be hard pressed to miss ‘em!” America grinned proudly, and tapped a finger on his lips. “The one I hit is sporting one heck of a split.”

“If you’re the one who hit him, then he’s lucky that’s all he got.” Germany shook his head as he approached the revolving door, and stepped outside. America held his smile for a few moments more before letting it drop, and turning to jog across the lobby, opposite of where Canada and England had taken Nathan. Germany had said ‘most’ of the others had left. That meant there were still some of them there, right?

Maybe, if he was lucky, one of those someones could answer his burning question...


	8. The Third Twist of a Bad Spy Movie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of not butchering sentences in Google Translate (this time), all _italicized_ dialogue in the first segment is translated Latin.

It was all Tulio’s fault, really.

He should have known better than to let Marius handle the straws, when he suggested they draw ones to see who would stay behind. It had been all too easy to tear slits in the wrappers, and hold the bottom halves so that, no matter which ‘straw’ Tulio chose, the paper would tear.

Rigging the draw was such an easy con, Marius almost felt guilty.

....almost.

_ “What?!” _ Tulio scowled at the straw wrapper he’d chosen, as if he could glare the missing length into place. Marius discreetly stuffed the straw wrappers - both long and short - into his pocket before his partner could notice the extra length in his fist.  _ “No! I want a do-over!” _ Tulio demanded angrily, throwing his own piece of wrapper on the ground in frustration.

_ “Not a chance.” _ Marius laughed in the man’s face.  _ ”You lost. Live with it.” _ Tulio clenched his jaw until he felt it creak, but swallowed down the growl building in his throat. Marius had been placed in charge on this mission, and he had to respect that.

Even if he really didn’t want to.

And he really,  _ really _ didn’t want to.

_ “Wait for me out here, and be discreet about it.” _ Marius ordered.  _ “I’ll go in, find the kid, and kill him.” _ He said. A passing pedestrian shot him a very alarmed look, but only hurried on down the street. They weren’t about to ruin their vacation for a couple of crazy-talking strangers.  _ ”It’ll be easier to transport a body than a hostage.” _

_ “Hell of a lot messier, though.” _ Tulio pointed out. Marius’ arrogant smile faltered, and his hand curled into a fist for a moment before he took a deep breath, and forced himself to relax again. They couldn’t afford to cause a scene; not here, on an active street in the middle of the city.

He’d just have to smack the smartass out of Tulio later.

_ “Try not to look too suspicious while you loiter around.” _ Marius pivoted on one heel and started to walk back down the block.  _ “If I have to leave you behind, I won’t hesitate.” _

Tulio bit back the curse at the tip of his tongue as he watched Marius leave, and hook a quick, abrupt right out of sight around the side of the conference building their quarry had taken sanctuary in. Then, he spat it out like a piece of rotten fruit onto the sidewalk, and resumed his pacing path down the front length of the building.

He missed the sharp blue eyes that watched him stalk past the front steps, and didn’t notice when their owner casually stepped off the entrance path, and began to follow after him.

…….

“I don’t think I caught your name, lad.” The older man said when they’d left the lobby behind. It took a second for Nathan to realize the man was talking to him, and another second for him to realize he should probably respond. 

“Oh, uh. It’s Nathan.” He replied when he found his voice. A part of him wasn’t sure he wanted these people to know his name, but he’d already given it to “Mattie” (Matthew? Probably Matthew) back in the alley. “Nathan Cameron.”

“Cameron, ey?” The man smiled, and Nathan was reminded of his grandfather. Something in his chest twisted a little at the thought. “A good, strong name, that. I’m Arthur. Arthur Kirkland.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Kirkland...” The teen tried to smile, but the gesture didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was tough to feel cheery when you were being hunted. The long walk finally stopped at a door marked ‘Employees Only’, and Nathan hesitated for a step before England placed a hand on his back, and urged him across the threshold.

The room beyond was a break room, with a small, basic kitchenette, an equally small table, and a handful of foldable chairs. At England’s insistence, Nathan sat down on one of these chairs, purposefully choosing one against the wall. Canada rummaged through a cabinet under the sink, and came up with a small, soft-sided first aid pouch.

“Ah, maple. Looks like someone didn’t refill the kit after they used it.” The nation mused as he unzipped the pouch and set it down on the counter. “This one’s missing the cold pack.” Canada frowned, and rezipped the pouch before tossing it back under the counter. “You guys wait here, eh? I’ll see if I can find another one.”

Nathan shifted as the man left the room, and folded his arms across his lap. England took quiet note of the sullen, rather ‘kicked puppy’ aura hanging about the teen’s shoulders, and gently cleared his throat.

“Why don’t you take off that jacket, lad?” He suggested. “I dare say it’s a bit hot to be wearing leather and wool.” Blue eyes snapped up to green, but Nathan made no move to remove the garment. In fact, he shrugged it a bit closer around his shoulders. Ah. It was a sentimental thing, was it?

“Can I get you anything, then?” England dropped the subject, and turned his attention to the kitchenette to begin poking about in the cabinets himself. “Coffee? Tea? There’s usually a few packets lying around these places.” He mused. Nathan slowly started to drop his guarded body language. “I prefer tea, myself, but it’s so difficult to find real black tea among all these processed types.” 

“...I like echinacea.” Nathan hesitated for a moment, and then shrugged his jacket off of his shoulders, and let it fall over the back of the chair. Without its bulky hood and shoulders, the teen was rather scrawny, and the dried blood splattered down his shirt made for a grisly sight. “Gramps swears by rosehip, but I just can’t get around the taste.”

“Ah. Everyone’s got their favorites, haven’t they?” England offered Nathan a smile, and nodded his head toward the empty coffee pot sitting next to the on the other side of the room. “It’s no kettle, but why don’t you fill that up?” He said. “I’ll go find us some cups, and we can have a nice, relaxing cup before you go?”

“Sure, yeah! That sounds...pretty great, actually.” Nathan relaxed a little more at the suggestion, and stood up from his chair to grab the coffee pot. England stepped out of the room, saying something about cups in a storage closet down the hall, and Nathan filled up the pot from the sink. He heard the door creak behind him, and then a quiet, metallic click.

A large hand grabbed his shoulder and roughly yanked him around. Something cold and metal was pressed against his forehead, and Nathan was shoved back against the counter. The coffee pot was knocked to the floor, where it bounced once, and then shattered.

“Scream, and I put a bullet in your skull.” Marius laid his finger on the trigger in warning. “I’m gonna do it anyway, but if you make this less messy for me, I’ll make this painless for you.”


	9. Attempted Murder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay with me, folks. The plot is going to pick up from here!

Nathan felt his heart leap into his throat as the cold metal pressed against his forehead, and any cry for help he may have attempted disintegrated at his lips.

“W-...! Wait…!” The words stumbled on a dry tongue, and the edge of the kitchenette counter felt sharp at his back. A thousand thoughts raced across his mind, though none of them stuck for more than a moment. At least he had been found alone. At least the others could get away. <strike>At least these poor men who’d rescued him and were about to have one hell of a mess to clean up wouldn’t be dragged into this any further.</strike> “Please...y-you don’t have t-”

“No, I _don’t_ have to.” Marius agreed with a crooked smile. He’d be a liar to say that hearing someone beg for their life didn’t give him one hell of a power trip. “But you’re a flight risk, and I’m lazy.” He ‘tapped’ the gun against Nathan’s forehead just to see him flinch, and his grin widened. Ah, but it was too easy.

Still, Marius knew, he didn’t have a lot of time to waste. The conference was over, for the day, but there were still a small handful of attendees within the building. The sound of the gunshot would be impossible to miss, he’d only have a few minutes to get out with his quarry once he pulled the trigger.

Best to just get it over with, then.

“Just close your eyes, boy...” Marius lowered the gun to Nathan’s chest, and pressed the muzzle into the red stain already dried into the fabric over his heart. Nathan hissed in a frightened breath through his teeth. “It’ll only hurt for a minute.”

The door to the break room creaked suddenly, and Marius had barely begun to turn before a ceramic mug was smashed into the side of his head, and someone bodily tackled him. As he fell, spitting curses and tensing, Marius squeezed the trigger.

The door hit the wall with a _bang_, and the gun went _off_.

…….

It took more time that America had hoped to find someone to talk to.

After searching several of the rooms, however, he finally found someone in the west lobby of the building. China was sitting on one of the couches, hunched over a small laptop, and determinedly typing away, one finger at a time.

“China! Heeeyy!” America shouted out as he jogged across the room. “You’re pretty old, right?” China looked up at him with a sharp glare, and America frowned. Oh, yeah, that hadn’t come out right. “Sorry, I mean - you’re older than _me_.” He clarified.

There! That was better!

“There are a _million_ ways you could have phrased that better, but yes.” China closed his laptop with a gentle but firm ‘snap’, and stood up from the couch. “By a few thousand years, at _minimum_.” The nation made a show of stretching out his back. Ugh...he’d never say it out loud, but maybe he was getting too old to be contorting himself like some spry young acrobat. “What does it matter to you?”

“Well, you’re the oldest, so I figure you’ve got the most life experience, right?” America began. He knew his little trick had worked when China smirked, and rolled out his shoulders.

“Yes, I do.” The nation preened. Flattery could get you everywhere. “What did you need help with, hm? Relationships? _Finances_?” America winced internally at that last suggestion, and quickly laughed it off. He wasn’t about to get into _that_ argument again.

“Nnnooot quite.” He said. “You know that feeling we all get when we identify a human as one of our citizens? Have you ever had that feeling...but way, WAY stronger?” China gave him a weird, almost unreadable look, and the young nation tried to elaborate. “Like, _lightning-running-through-your-veins_, _I’ve-never-been-more-certain-of-anything-in-my-life_ kind of strong?”

Possibly accompanied by a mild sense of panic at having forgotten something important, but perhaps that was a question for another time.

“Well…” China tapped a finger to his chin in thought. “There _was_ a time, long, _long_ ago…” China mused after a long, quiet moment of thought. “I had found a little girl, all alone in the bamboo forest.” He recalled. “I brought her back to the nearest village, but no-one there knew her; her mother had only passed through the village on her way to a larger town.

“The feeling you are asking about is quite similar to what I felt back then. I knew she was one of my people, but the sensation was much more intense. I was actually rather disappointed when I had to leave her behind at the temple in the next town.” China admitted with a thoughtful frown. “I went back a few years later to check on her, but…” The nation sighed, and shook his head. “I was told that she had fallen ill the year prior, and died. I never experienced that kind of sensation again.”

“....ouch.” America frowned. He’d been expecting a shorter answer, like _‘yes’_ or _‘no, what are you talking about?’_. He wasn’t sure he had the right words to follow a story like _that_. ”I, uh...don’t suppose you felt that feeling only when you touched her?” America wondered, looking down at his own hands. He hadn’t sensed anything different about Nathan until he’d touched the kid’s hand, and then suddenly, he felt like he’d been hooked up to a live wire.

China fixed the younger nation with another weird, unreadable stare, and almost looked as if he wanted to say something. But before he could, a loud and unmistakable **_‘BANG’_** echoed from the front of the building. America felt his heart drop like a stone, and China jumped in surprise.

The older nation hissed a curse in his mother tongue, but America didn’t respond, and instead booked it out of the room and back down the hall, ignoring China shouting after him for answers. The only other person he could think of who would carry a gun to this building was Switzerland, and he would _never_ discharge his weapon haphazardly.

And if it wasn’t Switzerland shooting, there were only two other people it could be...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "搞什么鬼?!" = "What the hell?!" 
> 
> Re-translated through Word Reference.


	10. Street Fights and Suspicious Grandpas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays! :D The cliffhanger isn't over yet!

Germany hadn’t been entirely convinced by America’s story.

He had no doubt that the young nation had good intentions behind his actions, of course.. Moreso, if his brother had been involved. Canada had a terrifying good head on his shoulders, and wasn’t nearly as gullible as his twin could be. The whole plot just sounded too ‘Hollywood’ for Germany to believe…

He’d humor the younger nations, of course. A quick look around the block was the least he could do, before gathering his things and returning to his hotel for the day.

Not five steps out of the building, however, Germany was stopped by the sight of a thuggish man with a recently split lip storming down the sidewalk, and spitting a curse that was definitely  _ not _ Italian.Offering up a silent apology to the brothers, Germany hustled down the front steps, and merged into the crowds passing by. 

He tried his best to keep a respectable following distance, but the man had his attention focused on the conference building, and never noticed his newfound shadow. At the end of the block, the man turned, and began to walk the block down the east side of the building.

There were fewer pedestrians down this street, and Germany dropped back a few more meters.

He watched as his mark irritably flicked the antennae of a car parked along the street, and bent in the mirror of another before he suddenly stopped, and Germany quickly ducked behind another parked car. Another pedestrian was approaching from the far end of the street - an older man, face buried in some app on his phone - and Germany saw his mark square his shoulders before heading directly for the man.

Muttering a curse under his breath, Germany broke from his hiding place, and hurried after him.

“Hey, old man!” Tulio reached out and grabbed the man by the shoulder - not quite hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to make him stop. Germany skidded to a halt, and dove behind another parked car to remain unseen. The accosted tourist clenched his jaw, obviously biting back some rude remark, but looked up from his phone to glare at his assailant with a thinly-veiled scowl.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Tulio asked, leaning a little too far into the man’s personal space to be non-threatening. The tourist quickly tucked his phone into his pants’ pocket, and adjusted his grip on his cane.

“No...” His contempt was only barely hidden beneath his smooth English accent. Germany leaned out a few inches from his hiding place to get a better view. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met.”

“Yeah! I think we’ve got a mutual friend…” Tulio’s grin widened into something predatory. The tourist scoffed and started to walk away, but the other man’s smile didn’t lessen as he continued. “Blond hair, blue eyes, big, ratty jacket…goes by  _ ‘Nathan’ _ .”

“....” The tourist stopped abruptly, and Germany frowned. Did this man know the teenager America and Canada had rescued? It was too much of a coincidence for the name, timing, and description to match...he should step in and-

Tulio said something in that oddly familiar language, and moved forward, reaching to grab the man’s shoulder again. Suddenly - and with more agility than Germany would have given a man of his age - the tourist turned on one heel and  _ swung _ his cane into the side of Tulio’s face with a solid  ** _‘THWACK’_ ** . The man staggered into an unfortunate parked car, with a pained cry strangled by a mouthful of blood, and Germany’s jaw dropped.

After a moment of shock, he remembered to close it.

These men were clearly not friends, and - in his brother’s own words -  _ “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” _ . The nation straightened up out of hiding, and stepped onto the sidewalk before running forward, as if he’d only just caught sight of the altercation from the main street.

He was silently grateful that no-one else had.

“Is there a problem here?” Germany called out, letting his naturally booming voice break up the fight through the call to attention alone. The tourist stiffened, and lowered his cane from its raised position back to the sidewalk. The would-be thug looked up at the shout, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his wrist, and visibly hesitated as he sized up this newcomer.

“....no problem here.” Tulio backed down immediately. Marius would call him a coward, but he knew how to pick his battles. This one wouldn’t be worth the attention it would draw. “Just a case of mistaken identity.” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket and quickly hustled down the street, tossing a half-hearted apology over his shoulder as he went. The tourist waited until Tulio had crossed the street and disappeared around the corner before turning to look at Germany.

The effect was not unlike a sharp spotlight being cast upon a nervous actor.

“I suppose I should thank you.” The man spoke first. He looked the nation up and down for a moment before holding out his free hand. “Kurt Cameron.”

“Ludwig Beilschmidt.” Germany took the offered hand and gave it a polite shake before letting go. ”Forgive me, but I couldn’t help but overhear a little of what was said…” He admitted. He didn’t want to make it sound like he’d been eavesdropping (he had), but there were some facts that he needed to address up front. “That man mentioned someone by the name of ‘Nathan’...may I presume he is your grandson?”

“You may.” Kurt’s tone was no less chilled than his stare, and Germany wondered if he’d had to answer this question before. “Doesn’t mean you’d be right.”

“Let me explain,” Germany said. “Some friends of mine came across a young man who goes by the same name, and matches the same description, being attacked by that man,” He nodded his head down the street in the direction Tulio had run off. “And his accomplice. They were followed when they tried to leave the area, so they all came back here,” Germany gestured to the building behind them. ”Where my friends and I were attending a meeting.” 

Kurt glanced up at the building, quietly aligning it with the map he’d been following on his phone. It was within the perimeter of error...and trusting a pair of well-meaning strangers is just the sort of stupid thing Nathan would have done. The man let out a sigh, and placed his free hand into his pocket, as if thinking over his response.

Quietly, he tapped at the screen of his phone, and (hopefully) tapped on the correct contact.

“...is Nathan alright?” Kurt asked in a lowered voice. “Is he hurt? Or just shaken?”

“He had some bruising that I could see, but he was otherwise-” A sudden and familiar  ** _‘crack’ _ ** split the air, and both men froze as the echo of the gunshot faded down the deserted side street. In the eerie silence left behind, Germany whispered a curse, and broke out into a run back towards the main street, with Kurt (limping) just a few steps behind.


	11. Gunshots and Guessing Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long-awaited end to the cliff-hanger is here! :D

Germany always liked to think that he worked best under pressure.

So when he turned the corner of the hallway, and saw America trading blows with one of the thugs from the street, he didn’t waste time on asking questions, and bodily tackled the man.

Marius half-turned to run just as he was hit, and promptly had the wind driven out of him as he was smashed into the ground face-first. America - having just narrowly avoided being tackled, himself - staggered forward through the empty space where Marius had been, and threw a hand against the wall to steady his balance. Germany quickly rolled on top of the thug while the man was still winded, and twisted one of his arms up behind his back.

“Is this the only one?” He asked, already shifting to straddle the man on the floor, and better pin him down.

“Uh, yeah, yeah.” America sounded distracted, and a little put out. He could have handled the guy on his own…the nation gave his head a quick shake. Now was not the time for thoughts like that. “Don’t drop your guard! This guy’s strong.” He warned as Germany reached to twist back Marius’ other arm. The man was still struggling just to get his breath back.

“Had me on the ropes because I wasn’t expecting him to hit so-OH!.” America abruptly cursed, turned around, and ran back down the hallway. Germany had this guy handled, right? Right. He had to get back to the break room - someone might be hurt!

…….

By all rights, the boy should have been dead or dying.

There was no way the bullet could have missed, at such a close range, and the blood splattered across the wall and counter was proof enough that it had, in fact, hit its mark. England tried to ignore a lone drop making its way down the counter’s front, and pressed the dish towel in his hand a little harder against the wound. Nathan whimpered in pain, but didn’t flinch away, and merely clenched his jaw.

“Sorry, lad…” The nation apologized distractedly, looking back over his shoulder towards the doorway. “I have to keep pressure on it. Now, lean forward, come on,” He eased the boy away from the counter, careful not to look at the gruesome stains left behind, though something gave him pause. The blood on the back of Nathan’s sleeve was already drying, and there was less of it overall than he’d been expecting.

Confused, England peered down at the wound, wondering if, perhaps, it hadn’t been quite as severe as he’d worried...and stared.

“...well, lad,” England said after a moment of finding his voice. “The good news is that it’s healing.” He watched the skin knitting together with a sort of morbid fascination. The wound was no longer a through-and-through. “Rather...rapidly, I’d add.”

“Great.” Nathan’s voice in return was clipped, and tired. “That’s...that’s  _ great _ .” England watched the injury heal for a few seconds more, and then looked down at the dish towel he had pressed against the entry wound. Cautiously, he shifted to be kneeling on one leg, and then moved to stand. Nathan stood up with him, seemingly unaffected by blood loss or injury but for his shirt being ruined.

“I expect,” England said, unconsciously falling into a parental tone that he had long since relegated to a dusty corner of his mind. “You have a bit of explaining to do, lad.” Nathan sank down on his heels like a scolded child and looked down at his shoes.

He probably  _ did _ owe up at least  _ some _ sort of explanation. That was  _ twice _ these people had saved him, after all-

The door suddenly flew open again, with enough force to slam it back against the wall, and dent the drywall. Neither Nathan nor England had enough time to flinch as America practically threw himself into the room, having barely slowed down enough to open the door. England was mildly surprised he hadn’t run straight through it.

“Kid!! Iheardthegunshotareyouokay?!” America took one big breath and rushed forward, grabbing Nathan by the shoulders only to immediately let go and shift his grip lower when he noticed the blood. That strange, electric feeling returned at the contact - like the spark of charged socks in winter. ”Oh, shit! You’re bleeding! Did he shoot you!?”

“N-no, I didn’t-” Nathan stumbled over his words. He couldn’t lie - the other guy was right there! “I mean, I  _ did _ get shot, but-. But I’m  _ fine- _ ”

“You’re  _ not _ fine!” America interrupted. There was blood all over the wall, for god’s sake. The room looked like a murder scene! “You got  _ shot _ -”

“Alfred,” England passed his arm between them, and his stern tone cut through the emotion building in the room. “Nathan is alright. Look,” He turned his hand slightly to point out the hole in Nathan’s sleeve, and the flesh beneath. It was still an angry red, but looked far more like a wound suffered months ago than one inflicted only minutes prior. America’s thoughts ground to a halt, and Nathan shifted uncomfortably under the stare.

“Um...” The young man gulped. “I-uh. I can explain that-” He couldn’t, really. He had no idea how he would explain that. But he was saved from having to by the arrival of a familiar face; both England and America tensed up at the sight of another strange man in the doorway, but Nathan’s posture relaxed noticeably in relief.

“Gramps!!” He ducked under one of America’s arms, and threw himself into the man’s hug. He wasn’t even going to ask how he had found him - it didn’t matter, in the moment. Kurt - still breathing hard from his sprint through the building (damned old knee injury, acting up and slowing him down) - leaned on his cane and wrapped Nathan into a tight, one-armed hug.

America felt another strange tug on his heart, and tried to ignore it.

After a long moment, Kurt eased up his grip, and held his grandson at arm’s length. He looked from the bloody shirt Nathan wore to the mess splattered on the wall, frowning, and England quietly noted that he didn’t seem all that alarmed. In fact, the man’s expression was more...resigned. As if this wasn’t the outcome he had wanted, but it hadn’t been one he’d discounted altogether. 

“I’m okay.” Nathan said. Kurt’s gaze pointedly flicked down to the healing bullet wound, then back up to his grandson’s face, and Nathan’s smile turned sheepish. “Now.” He amended. “I’m okay  _ now _ .”

“Ahem...” England quietly cleared his throat, and habitually adjusted his tie as all attention shifted to him. “Perhaps we should retire to a more secure room,” He suggested. “Before we continue. I believe some explanations are due.” Nathan sank down on his heels, and once again found his shoes of sudden interest. His grandfather, however, only sighed.

“Yes....” Kurt agreed. “Yes, I believe there are.”


	12. Awkward Interviews

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. This only took me six months.

Nathan’s bloody shirt was a loss, by this point, and the teen grudgingly discarded it at his grandfather’s insistence. England raised both eyebrows at the sprawling tattoo he caught a glimpse of before Nathan shrugged his jacket back on and zipped it up, but elected to bite his tongue about it.

Now was hardly the time for a lecture about poor life choices.

Out in the hall, Germany and China had Marius well and truly subdued - his hands tied behind his back with Germany’s belt (sacrificed for the cause). America gave the man a harsh glare as he ushered Nathan and his grandfather past the scene, and in return, Marius spat something threatening in Latin. _ Latin _. England suppressed the shudder that crawled up his spine.

Surely, his ears had to be wrong. The language had been dead for millennia, and though it survived through texts and a resurgence of study and academics, its last native speakers had died long before this man’s time. The nation watched Marius warily from the edge of the breakroom, but once Nathan and his grandfather had been ushered out of sight with America, he seemed to lose interest, and settled down under Germany’s knee, still radiating fury and ire. Something about him made England's skin crawl...

“We’ll need to find somewhere secure to put this one.” Germany decided aloud, one knee still jammed painfully into Marius’ kidney. America hadn’t been wrong; this man was _ strong _, and had he not warned Germany, the fight could very well have gone differently. That was...unusual. “At least until we know more about what is going on here.”

“A closet should do.” Chica scoffed. “All the smaller rooms come with an empty one. That, a belt, and a lock should be more than enough to hold him in _ that _state.” He gestured to the human's bloodied lip, broken nose, and growing black eye. Marius growled low in his throat, and spat blood at the nation’s feet. Germany made a disgusted sound and wrinkled his nose.

“Alfred was not lying.” He warned China as he climbed to his feet, keeping Marius’ awkwardly hunched to maintain control. “This man is much stronger than he looks.” The older nation seemed unphased.

“Then barricade the door.” China waved a hand in frustration. “Do I have to think of everything for you?” Germany wisely bit back his response, and marched Marius down the hall, in the opposite direction America had taken their other guests. England looked in dismay upon the bloody splatters drying against the wood and wallpaper, and frowned.

“What are we going to do about the break room?” He wondered out loud to Canada, and only partially rhetorically. “Any staff member who stumbles across this mess is bound to phone the authorities.”

“Aiya…” China shook his head, and shrugged out of his suit jacket, tossing it casually across the back of the chair Nathan had been sitting in earlier. “_ I’ll _ take care of this mess.” He said while rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “I’ve had more practice than either of you at removing blood from all sorts of surfaces.” Canada quietly traded a mildly concerned look with England, but neither nation protested.

It was probably best not to ask where all that practice came from.

“Right, then.” England stepped out of the room, with Canada in quiet pursuit. “We’ll, ah, go and catch up with America, in that case. I believe he was heading for the same room we used earlier?” He looked over for confirmation, and Canada nodded his head. For security reasons, every time the Nations came together for a world meeting, the chosen location was cleared out and locked down for the duration, using the best security available while still keeping them under the radar.

If nothing else, they already knew it was secure, and that there would be no prying eyes or ears around to listen in on anything that was said.

The meeting room in question was situated at the back of the building, with wide, arched windows that filled the room with natural light, unless one desired to close the blinds (the curtains, although lovely, were only for show). America was sitting on the edge of the edge of the conference table, drumming his fingers against his leg, while Nathan and his grandfather sat in chairs nearby. Kurt immediately fixed the nations with a stoic and wary glare, while Nathan seemed more interested in staring at the tabletop like a scolded child.

Which, England thought, he rather was.

“Ge-. Ah, Ludwig and Yao should join us soon,” England cleared his throat in an attempt to disguise his near slip as he and Canada took up seats along the rounded end of the table - not quite across from their mysterious visitors, but not directly beside them, either. “Then, I think, there are a few things that we need to discuss.” America started to drum his fingers again, and held his breath. There was an attempted murder-mystery happening right in their lap - he didn’t want to _ wait _ , he wanted _ answers _.

Thankfully for the impatient young nation, it was only a few minutes more before Germany joined them at the table, having stashed the intruder somewhere safe and secure. China followed soon after with a self-satisfied smirk, and England thought it wise not to comment on how fast he’d finished cleaning up the bloodied kitchen. America saw all parties required in their seats, and stopped drumming his fingers.

“So….are you an alien?” He asked in a conspiratorial tone. Canada closed his eyes for a moment of strength, and England pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Really? Of all the questions he could have asked?

“Um...no?” Nathan couldn’t help a nervous smile as the silence was broken with, what he considered to be, the most ridiculous of the questions to come. “We’re pretty sure I’m mostly human. Mom was,” He glanced at Kurt, hesitating before continuing. “Gramps is, too.”

“What about your father?” England asked, continuing the line of thought. They might as well make it useful, now that it was in play. “Is there anything unusual about him that might have resulted in your..._ ability _?” America silently bit his tongue behind his teeth.

Don’t make an X-men joke. Don’t make an X-men joke. Don’t-

“We...don’t actually know about him.” Nathan cast a nervous sidelong glance toward his grandfather, as if seeking permission. When Kurt made no move to hush him, instead keeping his eyes on the people that had them ringed in, the boy scratched at the back of his neck nervously. “We don’t really know my dad at all, actually....Mom sort of had this one-night stand with the guy and then never saw him again.” He admitted.

“Oof.” America frowned. “Your dad sounds like a loser.”

“Judging by your reaction,” Germany spoke up with a quiet warning glance at America. “This is not the first time you’ve ‘miraculously’ healed from a grave injury?” He inquired Both Nathan and Kurt winced, though Kurt’s reaction was much more subdued, and Nathan specifically suddenly found the edge of the table incredibly interesting. 

“Noooo, no, it’s not. I’ve, uh...I’ve been shot before.” Nathan admitted fidgeting nervously with the sleeve of his jacket “It’s. It’s happened a couple of times, actually. Got hit by a few cars, over the years. Got laid out by a skateborder going max speed and cracked my head open. Got clipped by the 7:12 to Canterbury and kind of died. Got-”

“Wait, wait, go back.” England interrupted. “You got hit by a train?”

“You _ died _ ?!” America shouted. Kurt winced, but did not look surprised. _ He must have already known. _ Canasa thought. _ Was he there? _

“I mean, I-I got better, right?” Nathan stammered. “And it’s not like it left a huge scar! Er, ah, well, at least not one most people would see-”

The opening notes of “Welcome to the Black Parade” suddenly began to plan, and Nathan snapped his mouth shut. All eyes turned to Kurt, who - slowly - took a hand off his cane, and reached it into his jacket pocket.

“That would be my phone.” The man looked at the caller ID, and with little more than a challenging look to Germany, swiped it open just as the vocals began, and raised it to his ear. “Cameron. What-.....” Kurt stopped to listen, and the stern line of his lips tipped into a frown. Just as cautiously, the man lowered the phone to the table, and tapped the ‘speakerphone’ icon. “He wants to speak to you.”

_“Buongiorno.”_ The smooth voice of a stranger spoke up from the phone. _“I hear you’ve found some friends of mine.”_


	13. Coiling Springs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two days, two new chapters? I'm on a roll!!

“Who are you?” Germany demanded of the voice. They laughed, as if they were a parent humoring a child’s demand for attention.

_ “A fair question,” _ The voice admitted. _ “But please, allow me to put us on slightly more level footing. I have been listening in since...Ludwig, was it?...met my friend Kurt, here.” _ He explained. _ “I know what you’ve seen, and I know that you probably won’t just let my friends get up and walk away, will you?” _ There was a moment of silence around the table, during which, no-one seemed eager to speak up and break it. Germany closed his eyes, and took a deep breath before opening them.

“No.” He replied. “We probably will not.” The words, though truthful, hung heavy in the air. Kurt’s stoic expression remained, but Nathan sank lower in his chair, as if trying to disappear within the thick wool of his jacket collar. “The events that happened here today require explanation.”

_ “Then may I propose a compromise? _ ” The voice suggested. _ “My friends and I have a flight to catch, and we really can’t reschedule it. Bring them to the Alicante Airport, T1, Gate A-19 - preferably soon - and I’ll explain...perhaps not everything. But as much as you need to know.” _

“This sounds like a hostage situation…” England muttered under his breath.

“This isn’t a hostage situation.” America argued. “We’re not gonna hurt anyone!” China shushed them both like children, and they fell silent. Germany gave the older nation a grateful glance before raising his voice in response.

“Why the demands?” He asked. “And how can we trust you to keep your word?”

_ “Like I said, my friends and I have a plane to catch, and we’re on a very tight schedule.” _ The voice responded. _ “And as for trusting me...you do have my friends in your custody. That’s a pretty hefty bargaining chip. What do you say?.” _ Germany leaned his chin on folded hands, and thought. From the conference center, the airport in question was roughly an hour’s drive away...and if they left soon, they might be able to avoid the day’s end rush of people hurrying home after a long workday.

It would ruin his dinner plans with Italy and Japan, but surely, if he simply called and explained the extenuating circumstances, they both would understand.

Germany looked around the table, hoping to gauge what the others might be thinking. England and China’s expression, as usual, were calculatingly neutral, but Canada wore a look of genuine interest, and America was all but vibrating where he sat. Kurt wore a painfully familiar mask of guarded indifference (one that Germany had seen on countless soldiers on all sides), and Nathan...well.

If he sank any lower, surely, he would disappear beneath the table.

In any case, none of them were speaking out against the proposed idea, so Germany unfolded his hands, and placed them on the table..

“...we will accept your terms.” The nation finally responded to the voice on the phone. “We can be at the airport within an hour, barring the traffic.”

_ “I’ll be waiting for you.” _ The voice sounded pleased. _ “Remember: T1, Gate A19. I would make sure you aren’t followed, if I were you. _ ” He advised. _ “The man who attacked you here today has many friends.” _

“Wait!” America interrupted before the man could hang up. “How are we gonna know who to look for with no name?”

_ “I’m the kind of man who stands out in a crowd.” _ The man chuckled. _ “Trust me, you’ll know me when you see me. Good luck with the traffic.” _ The call ended, and the phone screen went dark, revealing a home screen background of a grinning Nathan hanging off of a surfboard before Kurt took his phone back, and tucked it away in his jacket pocket. America felt another weird spike of jealousy.

“....alright then.” England cleared his throat after a few moments. “It looks like we’re headed for the airport.”

“I call shotgun!” America sprang up from the table with his usual level of exuberance, causing Nathan to jump out of surprise. “We can totally all take my car! I’ve got _ just _enough seats.”

…….

Alexander eyed the old watch sitting on the cockpit dashboard, and worried his lip as the seconds ticked by. They would have taken off twenty minutes ago, if he’d had his way. Granted, the terminal was more or less empty - an old favor called in to an old friend had allowed them to ‘hide’ at an otherwise active airport. But sitting idly on the runway was never good, and under the current circumstances, it was downright dangerous.

Standing up, the man ducked down through the cockpit door into the body of the plane, and started making his way toward the opened ramp, weaving past empty seats and the few passengers he was supposed to carry. His co-pilot stood at the bottom of the ramp, walking back and forth the way one does while taking a phone call, and Alexander (im)patiently waited for him to hang up the phone before stomping down the ramp.

“Are we leaving or not?” He asked, remembering at the last moment to keep his voice low. The last thing he wanted to deal with was the kids on board panicking. “We got into this city under the radar, but the longer we sit here-”

“We leave in two hours.” His companion promised. “Kurt and Nathan are on their way. With...friends...” Alexander frowned. ‘Friends’? “But if you just let me do the talking-”

“Tiber, we can’t afford this.” The pilot growled. “_ Mercury’s Arrow _ can’t hide here for long without someone taking notice, and I know you trust your guy in the tower, but-”

“Alex, relax.” Tiber turned on his silver smile. “We’ve done this three times already, and we always pull it off, don’t we?” He tossed his phone into his other hand as he walked over, and laid his right on Alexander’s shoulder. “Trust me, we’ll be ready to take off in two hours, tops, and Vindicta will never know we were here.” Alexander still didn’t look convinced, and shrugged Tiber’s hand off of his shoulder.

“Two hours.” He repeated sternly, half-turning back up the ramp. “If they aren’t on the plane by then, I’m taking off without them.” Tiber frowned, but Alex was already storming back into the plane. He took up a watch position at the bottom of the ramp, and quickly typed in another number on his phone before raising it to his ear.

“...._ Paulo ursus! Salvete! _ ” Tiber greeted the person who picked up. “ _ Est avo tuo _ . Listen, I need you to keep an eye out for a guest we’re expecting…remember the UK citizens from the flight manifest? ...aye, that’s them. I can’t tell you what the vehicle will look like, but if you can get eyes on security….ah, _ perflat _ . Wonderful. Say hello to your wife for me, and _ memento quod effugium consilium_. _Fortasse autem necessarium_.” Tiber hung up the phone, and spun it between his hands as he looked out over the empty runway.

One hundred and fourteen minutes left to go...


	14. The Not-So-Hostage Trade-Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely satisfied with this chapter but I refuse to let it languish in Development Hell.

They couldn’t, as it turned out, all take America’s car.

As China was quick to point out, they still had a violent intruder locked up in a broom closet to deal with, and they couldn’t simply leave him behind to be found by the human staff that cleaned the building every night. As England was quick to point out, however, they couldn’t bring Marius to the airport, either.

He’d already tried to kill Nathan once. Putting him back within arms’ reach of the lad was off the table, and taking more than one car would have made their small convoy too obvious.

In the end, China, England, and Canada volunteered to stay behind and deal with Marius (whether that be by simply ensuring he didn’t escape or something more, Germany chose not to ask at the time), leaving America and Germany to escort their guests to the airport in a smaller (and hopefully less noticeable) group. America, of course, drove, as the car was his rental, and Germany sat in the passenger seat, with Kurt and Nathan in the middle row.

Before they could get much further than the parking lot (and begin to experience America’s...unique driving skills), Germany quickly typed out a message on his phone.

_ [Feli, Kiku, this is Ludwig. I am sorry, but something has come up, and I’m not likely to be able to make our dinner plans tonight. Please eat without me, and we can catch up some time tomorrow.] _

The wording was simple and vague, and a bit too blunt (even for his tastes), but he sent the message through to the group chat anyway. The situation was too complicated to explain through a simple text, and until he knew more about what was really going on, Germany didn’t want to risk his friends getting dragged into something that may be dangerous, when they had no reason to get involved at all.

It was also best, he thought, to put out as little information as possible across an unsecured channel…

Just to be safe.

The traffic wasn’t all that bad, given the time of day, but America only made it about five minutes (give or take) before he could no longer stand the awkward silence in the vehicle, and started drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. At a red light, he glanced into the backseat through the rearview mirror, where he could see Nathan nervously watching the cars in the next lane. The massive bruise that had once covered half the boy’s face was completely gone, now…

If not for the cracks in his glasses and a few splatters of blood still clinging to his neck, one would think he’d never have been hurt at all.

“So...this guy on the phone…” America finally broke the silence as the light turned green, and the traffic moved on. “He sounds like a regular Bryan Mills...you, uh, know him well?”

“Well enough to trust.” Kurt responded stiffly, fixing the nation with a steely stare through the rearview mirror. America didn’t take it personally - this wasn’t exactly the kind of situation that made one relax. 

“He’s nicer than he sounds.” Nathan added on. “I mean, I’ve only met him in person once or twice, but he was pretty nice  _ then _ . And he  _ did  _ have this whole schedule thing all planned out, and I messed it up by being late, and holding everyone else up-” Kurt quietly reached across the seats to touch his grandson’s arm, and Nathan ceased his nervous rambling with an embarrassed cough.

“Hey,” America frowned, taking his eyes away from the mirror long enough to slow down for a turn, and ignoring the way Germany tightened his grip on the passenger roof handle. “You can’t exactly predict getting jumped in an alley!” He argued. “You didn’t do anything wrong, kid.” Nathan offered up a weak smile through the mirror, and the car fell into silence once more.

Several red lights and a few more turns later, they finally arrived at the airport. Following the signs hung above the streets, America turned off of the busier road into Terminal 3, and followed a much emptier ramp down towards Terminal 1. Germany watched with quiet apprehension as they left the flow of traffic behind, and frowned.

“Are we sure this is the right place?” The nation asked out loud. “This section does not appear to be open to the public.”

“The guy on the phone said ‘Terminal 1’, didn’t he? That’s right here.” America pointed out, though his usual confident smile was absent. “We have to be in the right place.” As they entered the cover of the empty terminal and started to drive through it, a man in a security uniform stepped out of a building further down the sidewalk, and started to wave them over. Trading a wary glance with Germany, America pulled the car over to the side of the curb, and partially rolled down the passenger window.

“I’m sorry, folks, but I’m going to have to ask you to turn around.” The guard started before he even reached the car. “This terminal is currently closed for-. Oh!” He stopped in mid-sentence, and did a double take through the window. “Oh, you must be the Cameron party.” He realized. Nathan gave his grandfather a confused look, but Kurt’s expression remained neutral. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t realize.” He apologized, and took a step back from the car.

“The rest of your party is waiting for you at Gate A-19. Due to time constraints, I’ll radio ahead to have your party escorted directly to the runway.” It was America’s turn to shoot Germany a confused glance, but much like Nathan before him, he was ignored. “Please, take the next turn-off on your right, just past the parking sign, and my colleague will direct you from there.” 

“Um...sure! Thank you.” America pulled away from the curb, still hella confused, as the guard headed back into the building, talking quietly into the radio clipped to his shoulder. “That’s...weird. That’s weird, right?”

“Certainly out of the ordinary.” Germany agreed. Quietly, he glanced into the rearview mirror at their passengers, hoping to glean a little understanding from their reactions, but all he saw was Nathan fidgeting nervously, as he had been since they’d left the meeting hall. America took the next right turn, and followed the road for a short while before slowing to a stop before a tall, chain-link gate. Another security guard waited on the other side, and - after a quick check with his radio - unlocked the gate, rolled it open, and waved them inside.

A few dozen yards beyond the gate, the buildings opened up onto the tarmac of the terminal. It was eerily devoid of planes or other maintenance vehicles, with the notable exception of a massive C-130 Hercules sitting alone just before the empty runway. America’s eyes widened, and he whistled lowly.

“Wow…!” He gasped. “I haven’t seen one of those puppies in-ow!” Germany withdrew his elbow, and gave the younger nation a stern look. “...a long time!” America grinned sheepishly. Right, right...probably shouldn’t tell the probably-not-actually-humans that he was over two hundred years old.

They had to take this one strange mystery at a time.

From the back of the plane, a figure appeared from around the lowered rear ramp, and raised one arm in a wave. America slowed the car to a stop a safe distance from the plane, and put it in park before turning off the engine. The figure remained by the ramp, patiently waiting as the four passengers climbed out of the car, and began walking towards him.

“You’re just in time!” The man called out cheerfully as the small party approached. “We’re just about ready for take-off.” He looked to Kurt and Nathan, and waved his hand up the ramp. “You two, go get settled. Take any open seats, and put your seatbelts on. Once we start to taxi, we’re not stopping for anything.” America very nearly reached out to stop Nathan when the young man obediently hurried up the ramp, and settled for clenching his hand into a fist.

There was that strange feeling again...the feeling of something that was  _ his  _ moving out of reach-

“A deal is a deal, then.” The man spoke up, interrupting the young nation’s thoughts. “You brought my friends back - and in a timely manner, to boot - so it’s time for me to hold up my end.” He held his arms out akimbo, and gave the nations a disarming smile. “I promised to explain, and so I shall. Have either of you heard of an organization called ‘Vindicta’?”


	15. Attempted Exposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished this at 12:48am and it still looked good this morning, so here we go!

“_Vindicta_, as in the private military company?” Germany frowned, and glanced at America. As far as he was aware, neither of their governments had contracted the Dutch-based group for any services in recent years, if at all. But they were occasionally mentioned in intelligence reports, as their agents had been reported in several Middle Eastern countries within the last decade.

“The very same.” The man smiled. “Suffice to say, my friends and I have run afoul of them. Or, more specifically, a client of theirs.” He explained. “The two men you encountered earlier today are some of their soldiers.”

“So you heard all that?” America asked, surprised. “I thought your phone call was too well-timed to be a coincidence…”

“Kurt had me on speaker for some time.” The man admitted. “I am sorry that you had to get involved in this, but I am also grateful that you did. We knew we were being followed, but had hoped that the safety of numbers would protect us until we could meet up here. Unfortunately, Nathan’s split from the group made him too tempting a target for them to pass up. However you got involved, your timely intervention saved his life.”

The praise immediately went to America’s head, and Germany could almost watch it rise through his posture - straightening his spine and squaring his shoulders. In contrast, the older nation maintained his neutral expression. Too many facts weren’t lining up, for his liking, and too few answers were being given. On top of that, however, there was something…._familiar_ about this man, and Germany couldn’t help wondering if they had met before.

He was an imposing figure - athletic, and nearly as tall as the nation himself. He wore an eyepatch secured over his right eye, and the pitted edges of old burn scars were visible beneath the patch, at the collar of his shirt, and at the sleeves of his generic short-sleeved shirt. His brown hair with its errant curl was quite reminiscent of Feliciano, but then again, plenty of people had flyaways and dark hair.

Why did he look so _familiar_?

“You say you’re being pursued by hired guns because you angered someone.” Germany spoke up. The man shifted his attention to the nation, and again, Germany was struck by an eerie sense of familiarity under that amber gaze. “How does one anger someone so much that they hire out a private military to settle the score?”

“By fucking up very, _very_ badly.” The man smiled, and the smug tilt of his lips made Germany bristle behind his frown. “But that’s not the question you really want me to answer, is it?” The nation grit his teeth, and folded his arms sternly.

“No, it isn’t.” He admitted. “Why don’t we start with ‘who the hell are you?’.” The man paused, as if caught off guard, and his eye lit up in realization after a moment.

“Oh. I actually forgot to introduce myself.” He quickly masked his surprise with that smile again. “My name is Tiberius Temerarius. But you can call me Tiber. It’s much faster.”

“Your _name_ is _Tiberius_??” America repeated incredulously. “Pfft. _That’s_ a mouthful if I ever heard one.”

“You can blame my father for that.” Again, there was some smug tinge to the man’s smile, and Germany shifted on his feet. “It’s an old family name, and he wanted to keep it around. Your next question?”

“What’s up with Nathan?” America dropped his voice down to a volume Germany rarely heard out of the young nation. “We ended up here because he got shot, point blank, and healed from it within minutes. I’d like to know what’s going on with that.”

Tiberius’ smile stretched into a wide grin, and he scratched at his chin, as if thinking. But a series of popping sounds echoed from somewhere back among the buildings before he could respond, and the smile dropped from the man’s face. Footsteps rushed through the plane a moment later, and a tall, burly man in a flight jacket appeared at the edge of the ramp. 

“Tiber, were those gunshots?” The man demanded. Tiberius whispered something under his breath, and shouldered past America.

“Stay on the plane.” He commanded without looking back. The other man - already stepping down onto the ramp - stopped short, and glared at the back of his companion’s head as Tiberius ran toward the source of the noise. 

“Hey, wait!” America turned and sprinted after him. “We’re not done here yet!”

“Alfred-!” Germany started to reach out, then realized that trying to grab the young nation was a futile act, and clenched his fist. With a muttered curse, he, too, sprinted toward the source of the noise.

They were _never_ going to get answers at this rate…

When Germany rounded the corner into the alleyway leading to the security gate, he found America crouched down beside the security guard, blood on the asphalt, and spent bullet casings rolling through the puddles. Tiberius was jogging back from further up the road, radiating fury and tension, and the guard tried to sit up as the man approached.

“It only grazed me.” The guard insisted, despite the blood soaking into the side of his uniform. He winced as he applied a bit more pressure to the wound. “It’s fine - I’ll be fine once I get to a hospital.” Germany stopped a short ways away, not wishing to crowd the poor man as Tiberius also knelt down next to him, checking the wound for himself. Instead, the nation looked around, worried that the other party might still be in the area, and there, on the asphalt next to the gate, he spotted an abandoned phone.

Curious, Germany crouched down to scoop it up, and on the screen was an open text conversation. The last sent message was one of several images, taken from a distance, capturing himself and America standing with Tiberius in front of the plane. The message was marked ‘delivered’, and had one reply from a number ID-ed only as “Boss”.

_[Move in.]_

“Alfred.” Germany walked over to touch the other nation on the shoulder, and held out the phone for him to see. “Someone was watching us.” America turned, and leaned back on his heels to look at the screen. Before he could touch it, however, Tiberius jumped up and grabbed the phone out of Germany’s hand. He seemed to recognize the number the photos had been sent to, spat out a curse, and then pitched the phone against the wall of the opposite building, shattering it into pieces.

“Whoa!” America yelped, and jumped to his feet as Tiberius turned back, and started to pull the injured guard up. “What the _hell_, dude?!”

_“Convoca mihi omnes alios. Festinate egredi. Non sunt inventi.”_ Tiberius told the security guard. The man’s expression dropped into a serious frown, and he nodded. _“Tutum manere.”_ The guard hustled away as fast as he could, clutching his wound, and Tiberius fixed the two nations with an intense stare, which Germany matched eye for eye.

“I can’t risk the people on that plane by hanging around any longer.” Tiberius said, gesturing back toward the tarmac. “And now that you’ve been seen with us, Vindicta will be gunning for you, too.” He crossed through the still-open security gate, kicking a broken piece of the shattered phone out of his way. “You two still want your answers? You come with us.”

“....” America looked to Germany to see his reaction, but he had already made up his mind. Superpowered kids? Mysterious bad guys?! He was going to get to the bottom of this mystery, no matter what it took!

And if he had to do it alone, then so be it.

But Germany returned his look with a stubborn one of his own, and simply nodded to Tiberius. Mildly surprised, America chose to bite his tongue as they headed back to the plane, leaving behind the mess of blood splatter and bullets on the concrete behind them.


End file.
